American Prince, the highly-anticipated follow up to American
Queen by Sierra Simone is available now!!

I’ve been a son and a stepbrother. An Army captain and a Vice
President.

But only with Him am I a prince. His little prince.

Only with Maxen and Greer does my world make sense, only
between them can I find peace from the demons that haunt me. But men like me aren’t made
to be happy. We don’t deserve it. And I should have known a love as sharp as ours could cut
both ways.

My name is Embry Moore and I serve at the pleasure of the
President of the United States…for now.

This is the story of an American Prince.

Excerpt:

In an instant, he was on me, straddling my thighs, one hand yanking my head back so I had to look up into his face. “Don’t play games with me,” Ash warned in a low voice. “Not tonight. Not after what you did. You don’t even want to know the things I’m thinking about right now.”

I could barely breathe. Pain sang out from my shoulder and hunger sang out from my thickening cock. I was at the mercy of a monster—in the hands of an angry god, as they say—and I’d never felt more alive. It was like kissing his boot, like that first moment I’d been shot at in the trees— the whole world came to life, the forest thrumming and the leaves rustling and my blood and heart all part of this incredible symphony of magic and music that was playing all the time, if only I had the ears to listen. Being with Ash was like my battle high, the fragility of life so apparent, the thrill of surviving it so exhilarating. Surviving him.

“Take it,” I said, my fantasies from all those years ago coming back and making me stir
underneath him.

“What?” he asked quietly.

“Take what you’re owed. Take what you deserve for saving my life.”

His lips parted, his eyes hooded, and he pulled my head back even more, exposing my throat.
“And what exactly do you owe me?” he asked. “What exactly do I deserve?”

I met his eyes, which were almost black in the dark. “Whatever you want.”

“What I want will have you flat on the ground with tears in your eyes. You think you want to give that to me?”

“No.” I swallowed. “I want you to take it from me.”
He went still.

“Let me thank you,” I begged. “Let me make you feel better. Use me. Use me how you need.”

“Oh, that’s what you want, is it?” he breathed. He leaned in, his thighs on my throbbing erection, and I felt his own, an iron bulge pressing into my stomach. It was massive. He’d tear me apart with it.
“You won’t let me have you any other time, not with kisses or love letters, but when you’re bleeding and I’m furious, that’s when you’ll open yourself to me? That’s when I get to have this?”

How could I make him understand? That it had to be like this? That I had to be conquered, not
wooed?